“Hey,” he answers, placing everything onto the kitchen table. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” I say. “Feeling perfectly normal and not awkward at all.”
Ryan smiles. “Yeah, me, too.”
“So...do you want to talk about last night?”
He rests his hand on the table, moving it this way and that way across the wooden surface. It’s a nervous gesture and it makes me feel a degree more comfortable.
“We probably should. Do you want to?” he asks.
I pause and consider. “Not particularly, no.”
“I just don’t want you to think that I planned what happened last night. When I came to stay here, I had no intention that anything would...”
I wait for him to find the words to finish his thought but he can’t. It’s not hard to see what’s happening here. He’s having regrets. I should be feeling the same way. Last night was way more than I bargained for when I started this experiment, but still, I can’t bring myself to regret it.
“Look, let’s just not talk about it, okay? I’d really rather not.”
Ryan still seems like he wants to say something but reluctantly agrees. He then reaches into the bag on the table and pulls out the scones I was hoping for. If I thought he was handsome before, it pales in comparison to how good he looks while holding post-coital breakfast pastries.
A minute later, we’re sitting down at the table together, eating our scones and drinking our coffees.
“By the way, after breakfast, I have to pick something up for Cristina so I can bring it to the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.”
Ryan takes a bite of his scone and sets it back down on his plate. “You want some company?”
“Sure,” I answer, a little surprised. “You actually want to run errands?”
“Not really, but I’m worried that if I leave you alone with your thoughts for too long, you’ll go nuts thinking about what happened between us and you’ll vanish into the night.”
“I think you’re way more likely to do that than me. Plus it would be difficult for me to vanish into the night considering it’s midmorning.”
“You’re a wily lady, Sullivan. Who knows what kind of time-travel trickery you’re capable of?”
Trying to hide my smile, I add a splash of skim milk to my coffee and give it a stir. “Just for the sake of conversation, where do you think I’m going to disappear to?”
“That’s a good question. My guess would be that you’d take an Uber to New Mexico or bus to Indiana.”
“What would I do in Indiana?”
“If I had to put money on it, I’d say you’d reinvent yourself, work hard, get accepted to Notre Dame, fight your way onto the football team and show the world that anything is possible if you believe in your dreams.”
“So I’d have to change my name to Rudy?”
“That’s implied.”
I chuckle and take a sip of my coffee. “Do you ever make it through a significant stretch of time without watching or making reference to that movie in some way?”
“Um, no, nor would I want to.”
“I get that. It would probably be terrible for you to miss your weekly cry.”
“Tearing up in manly happiness after watching the most moving sports movie of all time is not the same as crying. And if you ever do meet a someone who doesn’t cry at the end of Rudy, I suggest you run away as fast as you can because they one hundred percent have a treasure trove of dead bodies piled up in their basement.”
“Is this how you talk to everyone or just me?”
“Just you, Sullivan. You’re a lucky lady.”
14
“So, when you said running an errand for Cristina, I was thinking more along the lines of buying pens or picking up computer ink.”
“Meaning you thought we were going to Staples? I told you before we left that I was picking up Cristina’s veil.”
“Granted, but I just didn’t think it would be this...bridey.”
Anxiously glancing around the veil section of the fancy bridal salon we’re now waiting in, Ryan looks as if he were dropped down and left to survive on an alien planet made solely of beige carpeting. Miles of chiffon, tulle and organza surround us from the walls. Some veils have sparkles, some have pearls, and for some inexplicable reason I want to touch all of them.
We shouldn’t even be here right now, but somehow Cristina’s veil didn’t get packed in with her wedding dress when she picked it up yesterday. After having a mild heart attack, she called the salon and they confirmed it was still in the store and told her she could come pick it up whenever she was available. Problem was, Cristina wasn’t going to be available until two weeks after she said “I do.” She’s with the florist at this very moment and is then going straight over to the venue for a final, comprehensive meeting, and will be prepping for the rehearsal dinner all day tomorrow.
Thus, here we are. And as overwhelming as the whole scene is, I still can’t help myself from drifting to the nearest wall and moving my fingers along the delicate fabric of one of the veils. I can feel myself being lured deeper into the hypnotic bridal cloud that is ready to engulf me, but strangely enough, I’m okay with it.
“When I was little,” I say, not turning around to face Ryan, “I wanted a veil just as long as Princess Diana’s.”
“How long was that?”
“One-hundred and fifty-three yards. Is it weird that I know that?”
“No, it sounds reasonable.”
I smile and move along to a veil with antique lace trim as Ryan still stays frozen in place. “On one of the many bridal reality shows I watch, a girl had her deceased mom’s name embroidered into the edge of her veil. I thought that was a nice
